dera frances

Days after the miscarriage I found myself doing all the things one can't do while pregnant, as these things go.  I clutched my mid-day margarita in the kitchen, wearing jeans from the bottom of the drawer- the ones I was determined to button, making a point not to look at the much-smaller-than-reality-size as I heaved them over my backside.  I made plans with friends sans children.  I threw myself into the future over and over again, imagining vacations to faraway places that would be better without babies.  Or bucket-list concerts and shows in the Summer and Fall.  Or those really distant places that have me and my husband as young empty-nesters- torn between a little lonesome and a little awesome.  I renewed my YMCA membership, determined to make this the year.  (Always saying this is going to be the year).  I hugged my daughters hard and we made to-do lists for the year ahead of us.  I saddled up to my husband, my best friend, on the couch each night in the days following, neither happy nor sad... just affectionate and grateful for the bond to another after so many years of shared experiences.

"It's just life".

The (somewhat idiotic, if you ask me) phrase that seems to be on repeat in my brain all the time.  When our dog ran away and I thought I'd be happy because I privately swore I hated him and the havoc he wreaked on a regular basis but actually couldn't stop crying because I secretly loved him so much?

It's just life.

When my grandpa passed away and I couldn't stop dreaming of him coming back to me to give me the goodbye hug I wished I'd had but never received before he left?

It's just life.

When my then three year old told me from time-out that she loved her dad more than me because "he nicer than you and you a bad mommy"?

It's just life.

When we left our old, tiny, lovely house with such mixed emotions and financial concerns?

It's just life.

When I cried as I rushed my daughter to the hospital with her flimsy broken arm in her other hand and told her (in confused anger) to "STAY CALM.  STOP FREAKING OUT.  OH MY GOD, PLEASE STAY CALM!"?

I guess that was also "just life", in all it's ugliness.

When my dinners set off smoke alarms, or my week-old plants wither and die, or when I look in the mirror after a long day of being out & about and see a long chunk of hair that I missed that morning when I pulled my hair into a top knot (the oopsie rat tail), or when my ten year old tells me she has a crush on a boy?

Even the little things get the "it's just life" answer.  And somehow, even though I don't really know what it means, it helps.


What seemed like months and months were actually only a few weeks.  In those weeks I soaked up all the feelings.  From minute to minute things changed.  Sadness, elation, relief, anger, gratitude, love, loneliness, emptiness, peace.  On top of the "it's just life" answer, I also kept telling myself that emotion can't be trusted.  They are only feelings.  And at the rate mine were changing after the miscarriage (due to hormones and high expectations and weird timing), I knew better than to rely on emotion alone.  I looked to my husband who went back to work the day after.  I looked to my kids who were back at school, back to the sisterly arguing, back to the giggles about nothing, back to the nighttime routines.  I looked to my mother-in-law who had come down with a bad case of bronchitis, bordering on pneumonia, in that time.  I looked to my parents, who had already gone home after staying with us for a few days to help around the house.  In less than a week, how could everyone already be beyond it?  In some ways, watching others get back to life helped.  It helped to keep things in perspective and speed up the process.  It helped me remember that the world is big and full of ache.  It helped me remember that I am one lucky lady.

And so the music on the radio still plays that terrible house beat stuff that sounds far too similar to the soundtrack of a Night at the Roxbury.  The cat keeps dragging chipmunks to the front steps of the house.  The seasons keep surprising me in their annual way.  I've yet to perfect certain dishes, still setting off the smoke alarm from time to time.  The car continues to need gas, and oil, and new tires.  My husband continues to simultaneously piss me off and charm me.  My children continue to forget to brush their teeth before falling asleep.  Sadness and heartbreak and illness seem so close all the time, but so does happiness and celebration and life.  The sidewalks are filled with chalk drawings.  My ball jars get filled with new fireflies every night.  Where there are tears, there's usually a smile not far behind.

I am having a baby in November.  I couldn't be happier to plan smaller vacations that are perfect for babies, or bury those jeans even deeper in the drawer, or put off the bucket lists/ to-do lists for a little longer.  It is just life, in all it's glory.